Dangerous Liason
by Halia Stone
Summary: Vampires liked to play with their food—any self-respecting hunter knew that—but then there was Damon Salvatore. Hunter!Klaus/vampire!Damon AU. [Contains brief dub-con]


Klaus parked his car in his usual spot and got out, shutting the door behind him with one hand and holding a coffee cup in his other. He knew he shouldn't have stopped for coffee—Mikael's text had just said, '_Urgent, hurry,'_—but honestly, these urgent calls actually seldom amounted to anything interesting; Mikael was just content having Klaus at his beck and call like a dog on a leash.

Kol, Rebekah, Elijah, Finn and Freya were spared such trivialities; his two younger siblings were currently enjoying a sabbatical to finish their college degrees; Elijah and Finn were on rotation for research duty and digitizing the old paper files; and Freya was relieved of duties while she was pregnant with his niece.

Muttering bitterly to himself, Klaus sipped his coffee to warm himself up from the crisp air, pulling open the front door to the old, abandoned police station that had been repurposed as a hunter's headquarters. When he reached what would've been the reception area, rather than a live person he was greeted by a forcefield spanning the entire height and length of the hallway that would've melted the flesh off his body if he took a single misstep.

He leaned in and stared directly into the retina scanner, the machine scanning his retina in a blinding flash of blue light. He blinked heavily and stepped back, rubbing his eyes. He then pressed his index finger into the fingerprint scanner, taking it away after a solid five minutes.

"Klaus Mikaelson," the automated voice spoke over the tannoy, "Access granted."

The forcefield was momentarily disabled to allow Klaus to walk through it, and he headed through the hallways—posters of the building's old purpose still lingered as a reminder; tips on stopping knife crime; a board to fallen colleagues, etc.—passing several other hunters until he found Mikael leaning against one of the doors to the interrogation rooms.

"There you are," he said as he righted himself, stalking forwards, "What took you so—" He stopped as his eyes landed on the coffee cup in Klaus' hands, a brief flicker of disappointment there. "_Oh._"

"You stopped for coffee?" Mikael asked him sternly, raising an eyebrow and folding his arms.

_And a breakfast muffin_, Klaus thought to himself, but he didn't need to know that. "It was cold," he shrugged simply, "Besides, I can hardly be at fault for taking the long road when your 'urgent'"—he makes air quotes with his free hand—"calls never are," he pointed out.

He was half expecting Mikael to cuff him on the back of the head for his cheek, but he didn't. Just gave him a small smile that, upon closer inspection, looked more like a grimace.

"You may rethink that stance when you see this, my boy," he said with a knowing look in his eyes, turning around and beckoning for Klaus to follow him down the hallway.

"If you say so," he muttered under his breath as he turned around.

As they walked down the hall, Klaus sipped rather loudly at his coffee to try and fill the silence. It was what he hated most; the silences between him and his father that were just plain awkward.

It seemed unless Mikael was talking to him about vampires, he didn't want to talk to him at all, much less be in his general vicinity. It had been going on for almost a year now, ever since his parents had a particularly explosive argument that resulted in his mother spending the night with her sister, Dahlia.

"Elijah and Finn in today?" he asked, trying to make small talk to fill the gaps since Mikael didn't seem to want to tell him where they were going.

"No," his father shook his head, "Elijah is house-hunting with Elena, and Finn and Sage are looking at wedding venues," he explained; he seemed so pleased talking about his other children, never about him. Was it any wonder Klaus constantly felt like a disappointment?

"So just me whose weekend you've ruined, then?" he quipped dryly, finishing up his coffee and tossing the empty cup into a nearby garbage can.

_That_ did get him a cuff 'round the ear. For some reason it made Klaus laugh and—was it his imagination or was his father softly chuckling under his breath?

Mikael stopped and opened the door to one of the interrogation rooms that had been reinforced to hold stronger vampires; seemed his 'urgent' text may have been something after all.

Once inside the observation deck, Mikael picked up a folder whilst Klaus turned his attention to the captive vampire unconscious and chained to a chair. It was a raven-haired man—if he deigned use such a term—wearing a black leather jacket, stonewashed gray jeans with the cuffs turned up, and polished black boots.

If Klaus didn't know any better, he would've said he looked like an average man but he did. That was how vampires worked; they could bewitch the eyes that beheld them to forego any sense of horror at the truly monstrous mask that lay underneath their beautiful faces.

"Damon Salvatore," Mikael's voice brought Klaus' attention away from the vampire; he wasn't sure he heard the old man right.

"_The_ Damon Salvatore?" he repeated with a crinkled brow. Damon Salvatore—and his brother—were a notorious pair; a vicious, murderous monster with a penchant for extreme violence, often because he felt like it.

What gave Salvatore his notoriety was the rare fact he executed all of his horrible misdeeds with his humanity on, wanting to relish in the rush of fulfilling whatever depraved fantasy he had in mind. It was also rumored Salvatore had tapped into powers unheard of even amongst the oldest of the lot; supposedly, despite his young age by comparison, he was one they feared.

It was vampires like him that gave Klaus a reason to hate them—ones that did bad things just for the sake of it. Most vampires he encountered were either turned by accident and had no idea what happened to them and wanted an end to the hunger gripping them and the life of solitude in the shadows, but the ones that reveled in what they were ensured Klaus, and the other hunters, needed to continue their work to keep their loved ones safe.

"Yes," Mikael nodded; he had pulled on his reading glasses, "Around five-hundred, born in Florence, Italy during the Italian Renaissance and extremely troublesome," he read from the file, giving an abridged version, no doubt.

"He's escaped us a numerous times and thwarted every attempt at killing him," he added.

Klaus frowned; if they had Salvatore imprisoned before, why was he not informed? "How?" he asked in surprise; the only way to get out was with a retinal scan and a fingerprint match to a hunter. As durable as they were, he doubted they would be able to get breech the forcefield unchecked.

His mind then supplied a very gory thought of him ripping the eyes and hands off one of his colleagues...

"He's charming," Mikael said simply, closing the file and tossing it on the small desk where the recording equipment lay, "And we made the mistake of making a female hunter his jailer whenever we did catch him," he added, taking off his glasses and rubbing under his eyes before putting them in his pocket.

(He looked like he seldom got much sleep since _that_ argument with Esther.)

"You can imagine how that went down," he continued, exchanging a knowing look with Klaus; embarrassingly, it took him longer than he cared to admit to get what his father meant, "I wouldn't be at all surprised if he just got captured for fun," he sniped, giving the unconscious man a disgusted look.

Klaus pulled a similar face. "So why am I here?" he asked.

"You're too smart to fall for Mr. Salvatore's charms," his father relayed, "And I highly doubt he plays for the other team," he added with a brief snort.

The other Mikaelson kept mum about the fact _he_ did. "Why not just kill him right now? One less vampire to worry about," he wondered, giving his father a confused look.

"Because we kill him, we lose any lead we have on tracking down his lover," Mikael explained, for once not looking bored to the back teeth of doing so to him, "Katherine Pierce," he elaborated.

Klaus' eyebrows shot up; so, the rumors circulating were true. Katherine Pierce was a very old, very powerful vampire that originated from Bulgaria; supposedly she had made her way to Italy where she had taken up residence with an influential family, only to disappear several months later with both of the sons having stabbed each other through the chest.

"And his brother, the so-called Ripper of Monterey," his father went on.

So, this Ripper—worse than Salvatore, some reports said, a mindless slave to his bloodlust—and Damon Salvatore were _related?_ And they were indeed the sons of the influential family that had reportedly housed Katherine almost six centuries ago? He hated to admit this intrigued him; he would have to get Finn to dig him up some material to read through on the bizarre sounding threesome.

Know your enemies and all that; not the least because of Klaus' boyish curiosity.

"We thought we had them all nabbed in Chicago a year or so ago," Mikael was still talking; Klaus focused on him, rather than letting his mind wonder, "But Katherine had a witch working for her and Damon is..." he trailed off, his train of thought ruined as he clearly couldn't articulate what he wanted to say, "Well, Damon," he finished.

_Profound,_ Klaus wanted to snort, but he kept it to himself.

"Every female hunter is always raving about how attractive he is," Mikael said, sounding utterly haunted, "I must admit, I'm almost attracted to him myself," he added in a quieter voice, looking aghast.

Klaus prayed his breakfast muffin wouldn't make a reappearance.

Mikael then snapped out of the weird trance he seemed to be in. "Anyway," he clapped his hands, "I need you to keep an eye on him while I'm out on patrol with the Gilberts," he explained. "Get anything out of him if you can, but be careful," he added.

"Couldn't you have had Logan Fell do it?" Klaus asked, almost petulantly. It was Saturday and he had things he wanted to do; things that didn't revolve around vampires, for at least a day. And Logan Fell was restricted to desk work since a hunt for a five-hundred-year-old some vampire named Rose went south and she confined him to a wheelchair for six months.

"He's away for the rest of the week doing recon in some of Katherine's old haunts," Mikael explained; no rest for even the crippled then, clearly. "Trying to pick up a lead on her," he informed him.

Klaus just nodded slowly; if the Salvatore brothers learned all they did from their sire, then he didn't want to think what she was capable of.

"But so far, Damon's the only one we've got and we need someone that could push him to give her, and his brother, up, not fall into bed with him," he said, that last tinged with annoyance.

"Will do, sir," Klaus agreed. The sooner he did this, the sooner he could leave. And if things got too mundane, he was sure one of his old sketch pads were tucked away somewhere around here.

"Good lad," Mikael gave him a pat on the shoulder; probably the first contact—besides the cuffs 'round the ear—in over a year, "And remember to give him his daily blood supplement," he said, moving his head towards a tiny cup of blood sitting on top of the sound recording equipment; couldn't have been bigger than a double shot glass.

"Isn't that counterproductive to keeping him imprisoned?" Klaus asked with a frown.

"We can't interrogate a mummified corpse," Mikael pointed out; Salvatore looked pretty well-fed to him, but then again, Klaus didn't know how long he had been here. "It's only enough to make sure he doesn't desiccate; not enough to let him get free."

And with that, Mikael left the observation deck. Klaus sighed, looking at the unconscious vampire in the interrogation room. It would be idiotic to downplay his nerves at needing to be so close to a—rumored—powerful vampire, but it would be equally idiotic to observe from afar, in case Salvatore managed to free himself and Klaus wasn't fast enough to react.

He picked up one of the stakes left on a small table in the room and the small cup of blood and headed out into the interrogation room.

A soft hissing sound filled his ears as he entered, closing the door behind him. Vervain in the ventilation system, designed to keep most vampires comatose, or at least quiet. It was one of Freya's more wild ideas, but on this rare occasion it seemed to be working.

He walked up to Salvatore's unconscious form—or was he sleeping? He couldn't tell—and kicked his ankle, trying to rouse him.

"Wakey-wakey, Salvatore," Klaus sang, patting him none-too-gently on the cheek.

No response. But there was the soft sound of snoring. That arrogant wanker...

"Hey!"

The minute Klaus' stake stabbed into the soft flesh of Salvatore's chest under his collarbone, the beast roused with an extremely loud snarl, his fangs out, eyes filled black and the veins underneath popping.

Unperturbed, Klaus pulled the weapon from him. It was a common tactic vampires did to try and coax them into coming closer, then scare them. You could trick him once, but you couldn't trick him twice.

"This is John Varvatos, you prick!" Salvatore groused, looking at the hole in his shirt with an honest-to-God _pout_ like he was a two-year-old. Although the absurdity of his action was extremely downplayed by the monstrous visage on his face.

When he righted himself with a heavy sigh—was it Klaus' imagination or was he not the slightest bit sluggish from the powdered vervain gas?—Klaus was staring into the most ice-blue eyes he had ever seen; as cold and sharp looking as ice.

"Here." He held his hand up, showing Salvatore the cup of blood.

As he walked forwards, like a baby bird the vampire tilted his head back and opened his mouth. Klaus tipped the cup up and let every drop of blood fall into his mouth.

Salvatore gave a contented sigh when he swallowed the small mouthful, leaning back in his chair like he was _relaxed_, stretching his bound limbs as much as he could, looking every bit like a contented kitten. He then looked at Klaus properly, those ice-cold eyes scrutinizing his every move. Klaus remained as stoic as he could.

Salvatore looked him up and down, right from his hairline down to his toes, then again. Once he was done, he huffed out a very soft laugh. "So old man Mikael got wise and stopped sending females after me then, huh?" he guessed with a knowing look, "Or did his dick just get sore from all the chronic masturbation he did when watching the footage back?" he added with a wicked smirk.

Rolling his eyes, Klaus leaned back against the wall. He wasn't impressed and made sure to purposely flaunt his bloodstained stake in the vampire's view as a non-verbal warning. He just raised an eyebrow, looking as unimpressed as he was.

"He said I have to keep an eye on you," Klaus said simply, shrugging, "Doesn't mean I have to talk to you or entertain your sick fantasies," he added, needling him with a glare.

"Oh, you haven't heard anything yet," Salvatore promised, his eyes sparkling with mirth as his smirk intensified.

Then that scrutinizing look was back, this time focused on the weapon in Klaus' hands. "Now, what're you planning to do with that thing?" he asked, a fake frown wrinkling his forehead, "Spank a hamster?" he joked.

He then shot Klaus a mischievous grin. "You can spank me if I misbehave, if you want," he said invitingly, wiggling his eyebrows playfully.

Klaus' face pinched; he wasn't amused in the slightest. "The only time I'll be laying a hand on you will be to kill you," he promised, glaring at him again.

"Playing hard to get, huh?" Salvatore said with a chuckle, "Good, I like a little challenge," he said, giving him a small smile.

Thankfully that reaffirmed to Klaus it was just a game; nothing more than sadistic taunts to get inside his head and mess with him. So, Salvatore was a joker then? Who knew vampires had a sense of humor?

"Don't flatter yourself, Mr. Salvatore," Klaus said flatly, trying to discourage him as quickly as possible, "Nothing's stopping me staking you right now," he pointed out; sure, he couldn't go behind his father's back and stake a viable lead on Katherine, but Salvatore didn't need to know that.

But maybe he did from the look of disbelief he gave him, then that damned smirk of his was back. "You can stake me any time you want, big boy."

Klaus tried to ignore the double-entendre, but then Salvatore had to go and blatantly look at his groin.

"Although, you'd lose any leads on Katherine if you did," the vampire pointed out.

"Mikael must not be as stupid as he looks," he added in surprise, scoffing to himself and lightly shaking his head, "Just tell me he's at least cut his hair? The seventies Mick Jagger look doesn't suit him," he said with a look of disgust.

Klaus frowned. "How did you possibly hear that?" he wondered, "The observation rooms are supposed to be soundproofed," he added, that last more to himself than Salvatore.

"Hello? Vampire," he stated in a sing-song voice, looking at him like it was the most obvious thing in the world, "And a very powerful one at that," he added; however, it didn't sound like the typical arrogant boasting Klaus normally heard.

And he was soon privy as to why; one of Salvatore's bound hands twitched and _lightning_ crackled from his wiggling fingertips in purple veins. It fizzled out weakly, like a shorted-out circuit, but Klaus couldn't help the simultaneous look of shock and impress that came over him. He was lucky Salvatore was detained; he would hate to catch a wave of that to the gut. Hearing his colleagues screaming through their death throes through 'normal' wounds was bad enough; Klaus doubted he would make it through an hour if Salvatore hit him in the gut with that power.

"Did you like that?" he wondered, "I can show you some of my... other talents, if you like," he added, his voice dropping low and sultry.

_Does he ever shut up?_ Klaus thought to himself with an internal groan; it was like he loved hearing the sound of his own honey-sweet voice, especially with those double-entendres; seemed like everything he said deliberately had an alternate meaning behind it.

"But, if you're hoping for Katherine to show up herself and rescue me," Salvatore continued in a normal voice, "She never gets her hands dirty when she could use someone else's," he added with a knowing chuckle.

"No vampire can get into the facility unless they're brought in by a hunter," Klaus informed him; he doubted Salvatore was that well-known he had an army of vampires after him, willing to save him. If it was just Katherine, his brother and some unfortunate lackey suckered in by the threesome, they had time to press Salvatore for information. "Biometric and fingerprint scanners," he added.

"Same measures for anyone trying to get out, then?" Salvatore asked, sounding genuinely interested as he perused the room he was sat in.

"Yes," Klaus said in a short voice, briefly tightening his hand around his stake for reassurance, "Just in case you were thinking of killing me and making a run for it," he added, raising an eyebrow and needling the vampire with a look.

"Why would I kill such a pretty face?" Salvatore said softly; there was no double-entendre or playful smirk when he said that, and Klaus felt weird.

He brushed it off by focusing on something else, _anything_. He suddenly noticed there were another pair of even breaths throughout the room—his and Salvatore's. He was bewildered.

"How is that possible?" he muttered under his breath, looking at the rise and fall of the vampire's chest; it seemed natural, not something he was faking. But why a vampire would fake _breathing_ he had no idea.

"What is?" Salvatore asked, his interest piqued.

Vampire hearing, Klaus forgot about that. "You're _breathing_," he pointed out, gesturing to Salvatore's chest with his free hand.

"What else am I supposed to do?" he asked, looking at him like he was lame.

"I didn't think vampires breathed," Klaus said with a shrug.

There was a glint in Salvatore's eyes. "For a hunter, you don't know much about us, do you?" he guessed, his voice tinged with brief disappointment, "You should," he continued in a serious tone, "Know your enemies, and all that," he added, making Klaus wonder for a split-second if he had read his mind.

"As long as I maintain a healthy diet of blood, my body functions fairly normally," Salvatore explained.

Sure, it seemed simple when he put it like that, but it was bothering him. If there was vervain in the ventilation system, he was purposely breathing it in to weaken himself, and Klaus couldn't think of a singular good reason for him to do that.

"It's not that," Klaus said with a shake of his head, "You're breathing in vervain gas and don't seem the slightest bit bothered," he added, realizing perhaps too late that he shouldn't have said that out loud. If Salvatore hadn't noticed, he definitely would now.

The raven-haired man started sniffing the air, tilting his head up in the direction of the vents in two of the room corners. He wasn't coughing and choking like Klaus expected—had _witnessed_ happen to vampires—so what was going on?

"Oh," Salvatore gave a deep sniff of the vervain-laced air one last time, as if to confirm it for himself, "So I am," he added, unabashed as he no-doubt inhaled the scent that should've incapacitated him.

Klaus didn't like this. He gripped his stake so tightly his knuckles bleached white and his hand started to shake.

"And if I'm unaffected by _that_," Salvatore continued, relish tainting his voice as he leaned forwards in his binds, "then you can imagine I don't feel anything from these vervain soaked ropes."

He let those words hang in the air with a smirk. It didn't register for Klaus at first, the words just floating around his mind, disjointed. How was it possible that a vampire was _immune _to—

The harsh sound of rope snapping tore him from his thoughts; he didn't have enough time to react before Salvatore charged him and pinned him to the wall he was leaning against with a hand around his throat; not tight enough to cut his air off, just tight enough to hold him.

A game, this was all a game to him too. And that bloody _smirk_ seemed permanently plastered to his face. He stared Death right in the face as he chuckled at him.

"You know what's coming next."

The man's sing-song voice snapped Klaus back into action. There was a snarl, a flash of fang and Klaus' hand reflexively moved, the weapon embedding itself in Salvatore's chest.

He backed off with a low snarl, like a wounded animal, doubled over with one hand curled around the stake. The moment he righted himself, all trace of pain gone from his face and no trace of desiccation leeching into his form, Klaus knew he was screwed.

He missed.

Salvatore pulled the stake out of his chest like one would simply pull a thorn from their foot; completely unflinching.

"Okay," he pulled a face, grinning, "I deserved that."

The stake clattered to the floor and Klaus pulled the door open and ran down the hallway, not the least bit concerned it could be seen as cowardice. Right now, it was a smart survival move.

He shouldered the door to the weapons room open, pulling a crossbow off the wall and readying it with a wooden arrow with shaking fingers. Stupid, stupid, he had been so _stupid_. He should've just stayed in the observation deck. And as far as he was aware, he was one of the few hunters on duty today and he wouldn't be able to make it all the way down to those on desk duty to alert them; not to mention that majority of them were injured and wouldn't be of help.

No, this was his mess he created, and his monster he had to stare down. A chill then crept down his back as he walked out into the hallway, readying his crossbow with his finger poised in the trigger.

As he tried to calm his breathing lest Salvatore hear him and track him faster, Klaus realized it was cold enough he could _see_ it; smoking out in front of him in white wisps. The tip of his nose was starting to go numb, as were his fingertips.

Perhaps most bewildering of all was the _fog_ that started to swamp the hallway, swirling and snaking around his feet.

"What the..." he trailed off in confusion, looking around for the source.

Later than he would've liked to admit, he realized Salvatore was the cause of the sudden temperature change and the smoke display. It send a shiver down Klaus' spine. It was true; he _had_ tapped into those ancient powers.

This made him a different beast now, this a different situation entirely. Killing Salvatore clearly wasn't an option, not employing his usual methods, but getting him out was. It wasn't ideal unleashing such a powerful monster back into public—who knew what he would do?—but it also wasn't in deal having one trapped in a confined space; animals got testy when cornered.

"I've got more tricks up my sleeve if that hasn't impressed you."

Klaus whirled around at the sound of the voice; crossbow raised. There the beast stood in front of him, a wicked smirk playing on his lips as he licked them and summoned that monstrous visage, destroying everything about the handsome man he was, unfazed by the crossbow pointing at his chest.

"How are you immune to vervain?" Klaus demanded, backing up somewhat to put some distance between himself and the vampire. _God_, it was getting cold, so cold he was certain his teeth were going to start chattering and he was going to drop the weapon.

"One of Katherine's insurance policies for if me or my brother were captured," Salvatore explained with a gleeful look, exposing his wicked fangs, "She insisted on us guzzling it for a century, so now it just tickles on the way down," he added, giving his throat a little tickle for emphasis.

He then disappeared from view. Klaus swallowed nervously, letting out a loud breath into the chilled air. He was praying no-one was around to get trapped in the middle of this; as much as he didn't like some of his colleagues, he wouldn't wish death at the hands of a psychotic monster like Salvatore.

"Up here." The whistle, and accompanying melodic, sing-song voice, came from above him; when Klaus looked up he was aghast at seeing Salvatore _levitating_ above him in the heights of the ceiling. Cold air battered him as the vampire disappeared again.

There was a whistle again and Klaus whipped around at the tap on his shoulder and brandished the crossbow, only to see nothing behind him.

"I'm over here." He spun again. Then the vampire moved again, this time his fingers briefly brushing against his waist. "No, over _here!_"

Rage boiling within him—damn vampires and their games!—Klaus spun the opposite way to Salvatore's voice, hoping to catch him. His fingers only grasped swirling fog.

"Come out and face me!" he demanded as the fog intensified around his feet; he could no longer see his shoes between them; up to his shins was thick, white fog.

Salvatore's wicked laugh echoed off the walls; Klaus had no idea where to point the weapon, the sound seemed to rumble the entire building. He swallowed again, fighting back the bitter cold threatening to overwhelm him.

"Where are you?!" he yelled; a wind suddenly whipped up that stung into his eyes and made them water. A hand came up and furiously wiped them away.

_I'm right here, Klaus_. The voice was right in his mind, the sheer power emanating from it shaking Klaus to the very core; he couldn't even blame it on the cold.

There was movement behind him. Klaus turned and—

He was levelled to the ground with a sledgehammer of a whack to his chest that knocked all the wind out of him. As he tried to cough air back into his lungs, he was aware of the crossbow skidding away from his fingers and becoming lost amongst the fog. It forced its way into his lungs and spread through his body, choking him.

Salvatore was looming above him, smirking wolfishly. "Little hunters just shouldn't play with the big vampires," he said, tsk'ing him like he was a small child and wagging his finger.

Forcing his body to move into action, Klaus shifted and kicked Salvatore's legs out from under him. He toppled over and Klaus scrambled to his feet, heaving air back into his lungs; Salvatore got up and adjusted the askew lapel of his shirt.

"Is that all you've got?" he sang, taunting him and invitingly splaying his arms out.

Well, who was Klaus to resist an such invitation?

Fighting a vampire was no mean feat, and an incredibly stupid one; for every move Klaus attacked with, Salvatore either had a counterattack or avoided him with little more than a laugh. It felt like punching a cinder block with little yield from the vampire, and it was frightening to know he was playing with him like a cat would play with a mouse—those hands so deftly blocking his punches and kicks could easily break him like a twig.

He briefly lost concentration and caught one of Salvatore's punches to his jaw, the sheer force of it knocking him off his feet and onto his back. He swore loudly, the taste of copper and iron filling his mouth.

The fog dissipated almost instantly, the warmth of the building returning so fast it made his head spin. He spotted his crossbow laying several feet away; if he could just get to the arrow—

Pain exploded in his lower half as Salvatore kicked him in the ribs hard enough to send him rolling over onto his stomach. In the midst of his daze, he felt the hardness of the crossbow digging into his chest and fumbled as quickly as he could to free the arrow from the mechanism.

As his fingers curled around it, he made to get up but there was a boot pressing down on the small of his back. Not hard enough to crush his ribcage to pieces, but not hard enough to properly keep him pinned either; just like when he had choked him. He twisted and looked up at his opponent as best he was able; that demonic mouth was smiling down at him now.

"You know, you're a hunter so I can't compel you to just do what I want," Salvatore began conversationally, while Klaus swallowed a lump in his throat at the ideas no doubt swimming through his head, "But I probably don't need to, do I?" he continued, arching an eyebrow.

"Klaus Mikaelson the vampire hunter likes vampires," he teased with a smile.

"No, I _don't_," Klaus spat vehemently in response.

"I can smell something that isn't human all over you," Salvatore retorted, as if it proved his point. Then he frowned, as if the scent he could smell wasn't what he originally thought. "Wait," he paused, and sniffed the air.

He looked _bewildered_. "That's not..." he trailed off, his brow furrowing. Then his eyes glinted with mirth. "No"—he threw back his head and let out a melodic laugh—"that is _priceless_," he sniggered, his tongue caressing every syllable of the word. Whatever he had found out looked like it had made his week.

"What?" Klaus snapped in annoyance, glaring up at the vampire. He was gripping the arrow so tightly to his abdomen he could feel slithers of wood digging into his palm. What was he talking about?

"Ask your mummy, Mikaelson," he said plainly, that last tinted with a bad mockery of Klaus' accent.

At the mere mention of his mother, the hint that that monster _knew_ about something so private to him and his family, his blood boiled and he could take it no longer. He spun under Salvatore's boot and jammed the arrow through his ankle, grinning with satisfaction when he tumbled off him with a yell of surprise.

He scrambled over and pulled it out as quickly as he could; Salvatore was bent over, nursing the wound in his ankle. It gave Klaus time to latch onto his body and pin him against the wall behind him with a surprising burst of strength.

He tried to bring the arrow up to the man's throat, aiming for the soft part just below the jaw that would welcome a warm spurt of blood as he stabbed it in there, but Salvatore's hands grabbed his in an iron grip and redirected the arrow tip away from him.

His world spun and he swore as he was slammed onto the wall with the other man's hips pinning him there as he snatched the arrow out of his grip, also having managed to trap both his wrists into one of his hands and pin it above his head. Salvatore dangled the bloodstained weapon in front of him tantalizingly.

"You know, Klaus"—he shuddered, it was the first time Salvatore had said his name—"you shouldn't wave sharp objects around," he teased, as if he was speaking to a small child, "That _hurt!_" he cried in an admonishing tone, fucking _pouting_.

(Although the effect was somewhat diminished as he still wore that horrifying visage.)

"Will you kiss it better for me?" he asked in that teasing, flirty tone, a coy look on his face as he batted his eyelashes.

Then he _laughed_ again and Klaus narrowed his eyes. Of course, this was all a game to him, he was enjoying playing with him. He just hoped he could find a way out before Salvatore got bored and killed him.

"Go to hell," Klaus hissed, trying to loosen his iron grip on his wrists. He grimaced to stop himself crying out as it got tighter; he could snap his wrists like matchsticks.

One of Salvatore's legs pressed in between his own to further pin him against the wall and their chests brushed against each other as they both tried to recapture their breath, the air between them mixed. Klaus felt almost heady with it, _dizzy_. Salvatore was still wearing that infuriating smirk and he wanted nothing more than to smash it off his face.

"Aww," the vampire mock-pouted, "Bet you're a heartbreaker, aren't you?" he asked, tongue between his teeth as he chuckled.

"Oh, you have one?" Klaus asked airily, "Forgive me for thinking otherwise," he apologized sarcastically; no-one who slaughtered people for fun had a heart.

The bark of laughter from Salvatore made him jump in his grip. "Rude."

"Must've forgot my manners," Klaus retorted with a roll of his eyes.

"Clearly your daddy never gave you any," Salvatore remarked.

The mention of Mikael was just what Klaus needed to break the vampire's grip and smash a hard punch to his nose. He faltered slightly but didn't topple over; the hand not holding the arrow punched the side of his head in retaliation.

But he obviously failed to notice it meant letting go of Klaus' arms and he took that brief moment of freedom to kick Salvatore's legs out and tackle him to the floor, wrenching the arrow from him and shoving it up against his throat as he straddled him.

As he shifted his weight to put more pressure on the hard body beneath him and keep the vampire pinned, the gleeful look in Salvatore's soulless eyes caught him off-guard; he hadn't known pure black could hold emotion.

"You like it rough then, huh?"

Not getting what he was on about, Klaus ignored him and pushed the arrow tip harder against his throat, the pleasurable _moan_ coming out of that fanged mouth surprising him further.

"Your daddy know that you get off on this kinda thing?" he wondered with a wicked smirk, briefly licking his lips.

The fuck was he—

Klaus realized exactly what he was getting at when he shifted his weight further onto Salvatore to better hold him down. He hadn't even noticed himself getting turned on; they'd been too busy trying to kill each other.

"Go on then, do it," Salvatore goaded him, his dark eyes continuing to gleam at him, "Sink it in," he added tauntingly, baring his throat to the knife even more and moving in such a way that opened up his chest.

"Shut up." Klaus dug the arrow tip in so hard it splintered off and pierced Salvatore's throat, beads of blood bubbling from the wound.

His eyes were drawn to the blood that started to trickle down the vampire's milky skin; a dark part of his mind wanted to lean down and lick it up, sink his teeth into the expanse of skin until more spilled out.

"I bet you'd love it," Salvatore went on, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips, "bet you'd keep slicing until every drop of blood spilled out of me; wouldn't stop until you were _soaked_ with it," his voice was getting breathy.

Klaus' face flushed at the images his words produced, his hips inadvertently rocking on top of him. He didn't fail to notice the flash of lust that crossed the monstrous face, and his palms started to sweat at the flashes of images across his mind, so vivid, so _real looking_.

The arrow slipped a little in his hand and Salvatore sat up suddenly, flipping them both over with ease and pinning Klaus underneath him. The impact of the move had his hips digging deeper between Klaus' thighs; the sweet friction surprised him so much that he almost hadn't noticed his arousal being met by another.

"Looks like I'm not the most disturbed one in the room," he pointed out.

"I can't help it if it gets all my blood flowing to all the good places, now can I?" Salvatore replied rhetorically, completely unashamed.

Then he leaned down a little closer, his smirk getting bigger. "Obviously works for you too," he teased, ever-so-gently rocking his hips into his own, barely hard enough to cause any friction.

Klaus grit his teeth, trying to ignore the hungry look in the vampire's eyes, and tried to shove at the unmoving chest—somewhen in the struggle the arrow had gotten lost—but got his wrists pinned beside his head.

"Shut up," he retorted pathetically, deciding the first chance he got he was going to rip this monster's tongue out so he would shut the hell up.

Klaus tried to move, attempting to escape the punishing grip, but he froze when he heard a gravelly moan beside his ear. He stilled instantly; the last thing he needed was to encourage him.

At least that what his mind was yelling at him to do; his arousal throbbed with every rapid beat of his heart, every tiny bit of friction Salvatore gave him had him inching closer and closer to a sweet release.

As much as he wanted to deny himself any enjoyment, it had been so long since he had a real, boots to the ground _fight_ where he could enjoy himself and feel the adrenaline singing in his veins and lose his mind to it. The thrill was addictive, and he had forgotten just how much.

"Are you sure you aren't enjoying this?" Salvatore remarked, speaking as if he knew exactly what was in Klaus' mind—perhaps he did. "Maybe if I...?" He let his question hang in the air, smoothly grinding his hips and causing a low moan to involuntarily come out of Klaus' mouth.

"You're disgusting," he breathed out, trying to figure out a way out of this that didn't involve coming in his pants like a schoolboy.

A hand came down to grip her throat, she could feel both of her wrists being squeezed together in one tight palm.

"I _know_," Salvatore said with relish, his eyebrows dancing theatrically. His hand then gripped his throat tighter, restricting Klaus' breathing.

It should have scared him—that had could've ripped through it like a feather—incited the urge to fight. Instead, Klaus rocked his hips upwards to grind against the other man, a low groan escaping his mouth as ecstasy filled him.

Salvatore raised an eyebrow at his reaction, but just as he opened his mouth to speak again there was an almighty crashing sound and the scraping of metal being ripped off its hinges filled the silence.

A door was flung so hard down the hallway it ended up embedded half in the foundation of the floor; Klaus whipped around as best he could and stared at it in shock, not entirely sure if he wanted to curse out the person responsible for throwing it or thank them.

Klaus looked through the gap in Salvatore's arms, seeing a man walking down the corridor towards them both; he could see similar items of apparel to what he was wearing. Salvatore leaned up off him and turned to look at who it was.

"Stefan!" he called jovially, grinning in his direction; _great_ now there was two of them, "What took you so long? I've been stuck here for a week!" he chuckled, the hand around Klaus' throat becoming looser as he—literally—turned his attention to his brother.

"Sorry," the other apologized with a shrug as he walked closer, not really looking it, "Bonnie had a hard time locating you," he explained, then he paused and looked at Salvatore with a raised eyebrow, "And I sincerely doubt it, brother, you could've gotten yourself out any time you wanted," he stated plainly.

"True," Salvatore agreed with a grin, "But then I wouldn't have been able to have some fun with this one," he said, briefly turning to look down at Klaus and flick a crooked finger under his chin with a smirk.

He just groaned and moved his head away, being rewarded with a laugh.

"You couldn't have given me five more minutes?" Salvatore asked with a frown.

His brother gave him an exasperated look, eyeing Klaus on the floor underneath him. "How was I supposed to know what you were doing?" he asked rhetorically, rolling his eyes.

He turned his attention back to Klaus with a soft chuckle, the darkness leeching out of his eyes and a very human face with startlingly blue eyes was looking down at him. "I'm sure we can finish this off some other time."

Klaus' lip curled up into a snarl despite the racing of his heart, his wits returning and shoving Salvatore away as hard as he could. The vampire just chuckled as he barely budged.

"As if I'd ever want that," Klaus said, his voice gaining a hard edge as he glared up at him, "You can go to hell and take your brother and Katherine with you," he spat.

Salvatore snickered. "You're gonna be a lot of fun."

"The only fun we're gonna be having is when I shove a stake into your heart so hard it comes out the other side," he snarled.

"You are a sweet talker, aren't you?" Salvatore purred, his eyes shining with mirth.

Klaus was then suddenly yanked to his feet by the scruff of his shirt, his feet dragging limply under him. He tried to pry the vampire's hands off, but he couldn't loosen them.

"Don't worry, I'll give you some form of a story to tell daddy-dearest about why I escaped."

Searing, white-hot pain then flared up in the entire right side of his body and Klaus grimaced to stop himself screaming as Salvatore's fangs tore through his flesh, blood spurting up between the two of them.

The monster then pulled away; his mouth stained with Klaus' blood. He saw a bloodstained grin before he was tossed through the air like he was a ragdoll.

He smacked into the wall with so much force he wouldn't be at all surprised if his brain was literally bouncing around his skull. He slid down onto the floor with a pained groan, his vision swimming as he tried to look up at Salvatore.

"Let's blow this popsicle stand, little brother," he called over to the other blurry figure, the latter raising a blob of a hand in what Klaus presumed to be a thumbs up.

Black spots were dancing in his field of vision and his blood was pooling, thick and warm, in his collarbone. He pressed a hand to it and tried to focus and stay conscious; what he ended up focusing on was Salvatore's voice:

"I'll be seeing you soon though, Mikaelson."

He saw a shimmer of motion and then he was alone in an empty hallway, his entire world spinning. The emergency alarms then started to wail loudly and the bright, white lights flicked to a deep red.

He crumpled against the wall with a curse through gritted teeth; he was fucked.

* * *

**This was quite a fun dynamic to write between them, although I do hope they were still somewhat in character (well, as in character as Klaus can get while being a vampire slayer, anyway :P) I decided to make this Damon a blend of his book counterpart—age, powers and being from Florence—and his TV counterpart; the sarcasm, snark, flirting, etc. And by the way, I was kind of alluding to Damon being able to smell Klaus' werewolf gene in case anyone didn't get it.**

**Review/favorite if you enjoyed and I'll see you all next time.**


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